A flurry of goodbyes, a rush to the bus station, and now the boy is heading back into his world and I am sitting blearily on the couch attempting to prepare myself for some semblance of productivity. I've got editing to do, and a work call at noon, and so much piled-up housework and laundry, and the sodden bean patch to deal with, and and and. It was a lovely week with P, but also the last hurrah of summer. Now all of the autumn pressures suddenly loom large . . . so much teaching and traveling. I hope I can manage to keep myself together.

First, though, T and I are going into town for pizza and a jazz show tonight. A small comfortable date, just us, nobody else to worry over, and sleeping in our own bed afterward. I am jangled right now, as you can tell . . . work fret, yes, but also why does it continue to be so hard to watch a child go away? This always happens, it always will happen, I am accustomed to it, I am glad my sons have competent and satisfying adult lives, I like living alone with T. But the moment of separation is always like picking a scab and watching it start to bleed.